


Eyesight

by tigereyes45



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Post-Canon, Sandor Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 06:38:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19245835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigereyes45/pseuds/tigereyes45
Summary: Sandor survived the battle with his monster. It has been many years since Gregor was alive, and yet the scars of the final battle affect Sandor in ways the burns hadn't before. Now not only is his body scarred but he only has one eye. How can a knight protect a queen in such a state?





	Eyesight

**Author's Note:**

> A request made by arabelahyuuga13 on Tumblr. The request was:  
> A sansan fic would be nice with the hound surviving the battle with mountain and then he goes to meet Sansa. Later Arya stops to visit Winterfell and also meets him.

There were times when he still feels his eye. Brief moments where he thought he could see out of both still. The walls would stretch out before both sockets early in the morning. Then as the minutes pass by the clarity slowly escapes him. The long ceiling and walls slowly growing smaller and less in depth.

There were times when he was back in the Red Keep. Still in the middle of fighting for his life as dragon fire rains down from above. Fighting for his life against his brother and the building as it crumbled around them. He arms struggling to move as his eye is pushed out of his head. The pain is still fresh in the socket under his eyepatch.

“Sandor are you alright?” Her sweet voice fills the room. The sound of sweet chirping chasing away all the fire and ash. His mind conjuring up images of red-feathered birds singing sweetly as they swallow all the ash. As they grow bigger they eat the entire damn Red Keep. Her fingers cross his face and the birds all scatter away. Their feathers falling from their bones as he struggles to open his eye again.

“ _Early morning light creeps in,_ ” Sansa softly begins to sing.

“ _Only to see all the warriors are dead._

_Their dreams holding them captive_

_Sweetlips turning into nightmares_

_The sun waits to greets his warriors_

_But they all still worship her highness, the moon,_ ”

“It’s too early for songs,” he tries to push her away. To push himself deeper into their featherbed. She knew nursery rhymes could not stir him free of his stupor.

“It is too late to still be in bed.” Sansa insists. He could feel her weight disappear. His heart goes with her. He throws his hand out only for his fingers to wrap themselves around her wrist. Her arm tenses for a moment before she releases a deep sigh. Her muscles ease as her fingers wiggle her wrist free.

“Sandor,”

“It hurts.”

“It always hurts.” She sits back next to him on the bed. Carefully she digs her hands under his head. Her spindly fingers curling around his face. She is careful to avoid getting too close to her eyes or scars. “That’s why you should drink the maester’s concoction.”

“It doesn’t help.” It didn’t matter how much he growled she always made sure he took his medicine. The only use to the potion was dulling his senses. The pain still remains. It always remains. He rather has his senses as sharp as the pain than to still feel it and not be at his best. His queen needed him at his best. So many men want to be the one to stand beside her. Yet she chose him. Despite his words and injuries. Despite the fact, he was the same fighter with twice as many weaknesses now that his eyes were shit.

She lightly strokes his hair from his face. Her fingertips are soft against his burnt skin. There were new scars she has to dance around. So her fingers more often than not formed patterns over his skin. Dancing in circles to gather as much of his hair as possible. Just like a dancer who has to tiptoe around glass.

“If you drink your medicine it will dull it at least.”

“My senses too,”

“Sandor even with your senses dull you are still the strongest knight in all of the North. Stop acting like a child,” She lifts his head and pulls the top of him up to meet her lips.

He growls at her but does nothing else to stop it. She rolls her eyes in that way that only Stark girls do. Ever since he had first returned to the North he had been seeing that roll more. From Sansa, from her little sister, hell even once or twice from Jon. Though the bastard wasn’t ever much of a warrior. Even his little sister had a larger kill count. Not that anybody had a larger kill count then Arya.

“No one will judge the man who took down the mountain,” Sansa whispers soothingly.

“Second man,” Oberyn had killed him first. He just got the leftovers.

“You finished him, now get up. Arya will be arriving at any moment.” Sansa insists as she sets his head aside.

Sandor wraps his arms around her waist to hold her still. He buries his face back into her lap. Her blue and grey dress filling his eyesight. He leaves it open as his arms block out any light from his sore eye. This solid darkness granting mercy the light never could. This way she didn’t have to look at his face. She would just see the back of the dog she had known when she was young. Perhaps the deadly Starks would finally kill him. He laughs at the thought, but no their aim is true. If they had wanted him dead he never would have made it back to finish his brother.

“Why are you laughing?” Sansa asks as she buries her fingers into his hair.

“She’s probably already here. Slinking around the corners of this old castle.”

“No one knew them better,” Sansa agrees as she curls a few strands around her fingers.

“Rickon did,” He groans as he hears her. Sure enough, Arya was here clear in their doorway most likely.

“You really should announce yourself,”

He could hear Arya’s laugh. It was somehow deeper then it had been when she was a child. Not as sweet. There’s been an icy edge to her voice ever since she had killed the damn ice king. It was even in her laugh now. Corrupting every word she speaks. Sandor didn’t like it. Arya hasn’t sounded like Arya for a long time. The only break he saw in the change was at the red keep. In those final moments before his eyesight was taken.

“If she announced herself how would she be able to kill?” Stealth was what she relied on the most. Stealth and anger. She didn’t have the height or raw strength to overpower people. “Too short to do anything otherwise.”

“Taller than you right now. Why don’t you get up?”

Sansa pushes his shoulders gently. “She’s right Sandor. It’s time to start the day.”

“She’s too short to be right.” He lifts his head up and looks over his shoulder. Standing there in a brown shirt with loose pants on. An attire that any decent sailor wouldn’t wear. “Still dressing like a boy?”

“Safest way to travel,” She admits with a shrug. Her eyes light up as she looks at Sansa. Her lips curve up in a smile as if to say, ‘really, him?’. “How did you know I was arriving?”

The sisters share a look. In that one moment seemingly everything passes through them. Everywhere they had been, what they’ve missed, how they felt. A connection between family that Sandor knows to be singular to the Starks.

“Bran,” the two say in unison. They share their smiles and Sandor forces himself to sit up. Sunlight blinds his eye from the window as he stands. He groans and cover his face before swearing under his breath. He could hear his queen stand behind him. She sets his clothes out on the bed as he tears off his shirt. He pretends not to hear her whispering to her sister, about how she may want to leave. It isn’t because she hadn’t seen men naked before but to save his dignity. Once more he curses his eye. The one whose pain wakes him often in the middle of the night. The one who he had to dull his sense for. Whose lack of purpose and use render him only half able to tie his own armor on anymore. He listens to Arya’s feet as they leave. Only a dog listening intently could hear those steps. He would not be taking the concoction today.

“You should have risen earlier.” Sansa points out as her hands pull on his undershirt.

“I can do that!” He growls snapping at her.

“Yes you can, but it is faster if I do it,” She points out as she folds the shirt onto the foot of their bed.

“You keep talking of me sleeping in, but it is still morning’s first stroke.”

“Dawn may still be gracing us but my day starts early. So does yours.”

Silence fills the room as she applies his armor. Her hands methodically sort through the metal for the next piece she wants. She was better at it then all the squires at King’s Landing. Even better then he had been at tying the armor up tight enough that it wouldn’t fall loose. It had barely stayed on him during the first half of his journey back North. As he arrived in the Riverlands he remembers hearing that Sansa Stark was traveling South. His whole reason for going back North gone. He immediately turned his horse back around and found Arya Stark at King’s Landing. She was the one to help the master nurse his wounds until Sansa arrived. It was the kindest and tenderest he had ever seen Arya act. After training with the faceless men, Sandor thought all the kindness had gone from the girl. Then she was, and Sansa was even kinder. Visiting him in between the meetings with the other lords and ladies. It was she who told him that his left eye would never be recovered. He would never see out of it again. Sandor had already suspected as much, but it still hurt to hear.

Sansa had dressed him that day and for most of the days after. Just as she was doing now. “I can do it,” he protests again.

“Nonsense. I’m finished.” Sansa Stark then steps away and looks him over once more. They weren’t married, but they shared a bed. She used to avert her gaze whenever he was near, and now he was the one who could barely get his remaining eye to focus in on her form. Her soft smile melts into a thoughtful frown. The laughter lines around her mouth becoming less defined then the wrinkles in her forehead. He wills his other eye to come back. So he could see her properly instead of in this thick haze. Then he may be able to see why she was sad. Instead, he must ask.

“What’s wrong Wolf Queen?”

“I had wished you would take your medicine before.” She looks back at the door. “We should meet with my sister in the solar. There is news.” Sansa explains carefully measuring the emotion in her words.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” and he knows its a lie. He wishes she had left with him. Then he could still see the truth behind her lies, but now her face is a mask. One she molds so easily between her fingers. Even her hair was an accessory to hide her secrets. Now Sandor can barely tell when she’s lying. When he does, he can no longer discern the truth. Arya was easier to read then Sansa.

“I’ll be there in a moment.” Sandor huffs before he pushes his way past Sansa and out the door. The littlest Stark was sitting outside the door. She was twirling her valaryian blade between her fingers as he walks out. The door almost hits her but she pushes it past with the tip of her blade.

“Shall we go to solar together?”

“In a bit. I need to see the master.”

“Going to take your medicine.” Her voice was teasing, but it only made him want her gone faster.

“Fuck off.”

Arya doesn’t fuck off. She walks steadily beside him. Offering kind smiles to the commoners wandering around the castle. Some doing their jobs. Others just exploring while they have the chance. Arya had been gone for a long while, but people still recognize Ned Stark’s ghost. He was always just a step behind Arya. Walking there side by side with the aunt she looked like. Arya didn’t seem burden by the spirits anymore. For she was the slayer of the Night King. The bane of white walkers everywhere. She had come into her own, and even made discoveries most of Westeros will never see.

She had a right to not fear the ghosts.

Sandor wishes he didn’t fear his own.

When they make it to the maester’s office he walks in unannounced. Knocking didn’t matter for he already knew the maester would be. The old man looks up from a book bemused. He points towards a bottle on his desk and returns to his work. This was one maester Sandor could stand. He didn’t insist on lectures or talking. Understood that some people just wanted to get their business done and leave. That was just what Sandor did. He took his medicine, steadied himself and walked back out.

‘Now we head to the solar.” Sandor concedes.

“Do you have any idea what Sansa wishes to share?”

“Nope.”

As they spy the solar’s door.

“I wonder if she’s pregnant. Or decided to get married. Maybe that’s why she wanted you on your medicine Clegane. She’s marrying someone and needs you not to cut him in two.”

“The medicine wouldn’t stop me,” was his only response to Arya’s teasing.

Sandor knows Arya’s words carry no weight. If Sansa had decided to take a husband to rule the North with her she wouldn’t allow him to stay in their bed anymore. She would have kicked him out as soon as the thought entered her mind. He knows that much at least. As they enter Sansa smile only confirms that this was not a talk of marriage. She wouldn’t be smiling for that. Her emotions would be reigned in and under control. She would let no emotion out measure the other or breakthrough her facades. No, whatever the news was it was something Sansa was looking forward to.

“Arya I know you are looking forward to returning to the sea or even to Storm’s End. However, I have a request.” Sansa holds out her hand and Arya stares at it confused. Sansa grabs her sister’s hands and squeezes them tightly. “I will need someone here I trust to help me.”

“What is the news?” Sandor asks stepping away from the women.

“Y-you’re pregnant. Aren’t you?” Arya's eyes widen as her sister simply nods. She offers a knowing smile to Clegane. He never wanted to smack that smile off her face so much.

Sandor doesn’t say anything. He has several questions. Does she plan to raise the child as a bastard, will she legitimize it? Will she tell people who the father is? He had little doubt that it was him. Sansa Stark was not the kind to step around that way. Yet what her plans were going forth left a lot to be pondered. How were they going to raise this child, and what will the northerners think?

“This couldn’t have been discussed in our bedroom?” Sandor finally asks. He pushes all the other thoughts from his head.

Sansa rolls her eyes. It was the same damn roll again. She kisses Sandor’s cheek while still holding onto her sister’s hands. She could do this alone, but she didn’t want to. That was why she wanted to talk in the solar. A room where her family used to gather. A room where she wanted her remaining family to be gathered in.

“So what do we tell the North?”

“The truth, and we raise the child prepared to lead it next.” She looks back at Arya. “Please stay. At least until after the birth.”

Arya smiles a thin little smile. “Until the child is born, but we must write to the boys. Jon will want to visit and I shall make sure Bran does as well.”

Sansa hugs her sister then and for a moment Sandor could imagine this working out. This plan of Sansa’s unit the past and future of her family. To unite all the ghosts and create a new present. Sandor was going to have a child. A child with the wolf-queen and the child would only know him as he was now. Better, but broken still. Just as it’s mother would be. Silently he hopes it will be enough, and that the child would grow up healthy, strong, and all Stark.


End file.
